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Buying the duplex near Shane's parents was one of the best ideas Shane's ever had. It's a nice property, with enough privacy not to worry about who might be driving by, and room for a patch of grass and a soccer net out back.
And if there's a door between the halves now, and both sets of security cameras go to both of them, that's between the two of them.
He gets the alert that there's a car in Ilya's driveway, then that the car port is opening, and sets out a Coke on the kitchen island.
Ilya comes in looking upset, ignores the Coke entirely, and gets one of the bottles with Russian labels out of the cupboard. Shane puts a shot glass in front of him as he's unscrewing the top; Ilya looks at it, sighs, and fills it, then sits heavily on one of the bar stools.
"What's wrong?" Shane asks him, leaning on the island countertop across from him. "I thought you were hanging out with my dad today."
Ilya knocks back the drink. "Yes."
"What happened?" He frowns. "You said it was okay when Mom wanted to take me to the hardware store with her. If something happened—you could have texted. I would have come back."
"Was okay. Was fine." Ilya gestures, pours another drink, and sighs. "Shane. I have made incorrect assumptions about your father."
"About my father," Shane repeats.
"Mm."
"What … what kind of assumptions?"
"Needed to talk to me, he said." Ilya sighs again, louder. "He has called. Many times. Often. So many."
"Yeah?" Shane frowns. "He calls me, too. If you want him to stop, I can talk to him."
"He calls, and he asks me about my day. And then he talks." Ilya glares at the bottle. "Thought I understood."
"And … you didn't?"
Ilya shakes his head. "I have understood nothing. I do understand nothing. Nothing!" He turns the glare on Shane. "Your father is strange, Hollander. Very strange." He goes back to the bottle, starts to pour, and then realizes the shot is already full. "Is not what I thought."
"Wait, why did you think he was calling you?"
Ilya shrugs and slams down the second shot. "Money. Is always money. Everyone, money, money, money."
Shane blinks. "You thought my dad was calling you because he wanted money?"
"Why else does anyone call me?" Ilya stares at his shot glass. "Sometimes is money for me. Is nice when is that."
"I don't call you because I want money."
"No. You are different. Only one." Ilya's shoulders hunch. "All others, is about the money."
"My dad doesn't want your money, either," Shane says, trying not to be insulted on his dad's behalf.
Ilya shrugs.
"My contract is better than yours. If they needed money, they'd come to me."
"Maybe." Ilya gestures with the thankfully-empty shot glass. "Or maybe is too bad."
"Too bad," Shane echoes.
"When he called, I thought, what could be so bad that he would call me and not you?" Ilya looks at Shane, then away. "Hidden debts, maybe. Gambling, drugs—."
"You thought my dad had a secret drug addiction?"
"Would not be the first." Ilya leans his elbows on the counter. "No signs, so I thought—other things to hide. Women. Children, maybe." His shoulders relax. "Don't mind so much if it goes to children."
"You thought you were paying the bills for my dad's secret love children," Shane says, just to be sure he's understanding correctly.
"Mm. Your mother, she is so sweet, so of course he could not tell her. You are open book, you could not keep the secret—"
"I can keep a secret!"
"—but I am nobody important. I will not risk what they could do to me, over a little money."
"I kept you a secret for years!" Shane stops, runs back what Ilya just said, and—where does he even start? The end seems easiest. "You thought my dad was blackmailing you?"
"No. Only asking."
"Okay. Good."
"Blackmail isn't necessary if I pay without making fuss."
Shane rubs his face. "I'm going to make a fuss," he mutters.
"You are making fuss," Ilya informs him. "So much fuss. Fuss fussy fuss, always fussy."
"Shut up."
Ilya snorts and pours himself another shot.
"Ilya," Shane says slowly.
"Oh no. That tone, that tone is no good." Ilya puts his hand over Shane's mouth. "Do not want to hear it."
"Yes, you do," Shane says; Ilya's hand is muffling him, but not so much he isn't intelligible. "Ilya, my dad doesn't have secret love children."
"I know that! Now." He takes his hand back and runs it through his hair. "Now, there are taxes."
Shane blinks. "Taxes? What taxes? My dad works for the CRA1, he knows how much money to set aside for taxes, what are you talking about?"
"I know!" Ilya bursts out. "Calculated, set aside, ready to file."
He sounds awfully upset about this, and Shane is completely baffled. "Okay," he says slowly.
"Only needs my information."
"Because you've been giving him money," Shane agrees, following this part. "There's rules about that, since you're a foreign—"
"National, yes, yes, have heard so much about this, about these rules, so many rules, why are there so many rules! Set an amount, take it, let us be done with these rules! Not even goal crease has so many rules!"
Shane snorts.
"So now he must know my income, and he must know how much is inside the country and how much is outside the country, and—I do not know these things! Why would I know these things! These are things for—." He makes a little gesture with his fingers. "The money people!"
"My dad is money people."
"I know!"
Shane frowns. "Why does he need your income, though? He's not filing against it."
"Is. Because is my money."
"I thought you gave it to him. Isn't that why—"
"I thought I did too!" Ilya makes a wild gesture with both hands. "Thought was paying for children! No, no children. No drugs, no gambling, no girls, no children."
"Okay."
"No, is paying for stocks."
Shane blinks slowly. "Stocks."
"A year ago, I say to him, David, my money, is doing well, but could be doing better, yes? He says yes, but is risky. Always tradeoff, risk, reward. I say to him, okay, but have more than need, yes? So could risk some, maybe. A little bit." He holds his fingers together. "He says, if have more than need, then perhaps could do something with it, yes. Extra always good to have, for—" he makes air quotes— "unusual expenses."
"And you thought he meant—"
"I have more than I need," Ilya says, very precisely and bitterly. "So I could pay his unusual expenses."
Shane can't help the snicker that escapes. "My dad's idea of an unusual expense is a tree branch falling on the shed."
Ilya sighs.
"It's not covered by the homeowner's insurance. Dad found that out the hard way, a while back, and replacing the shed cost like ten grand, so now—"
"Would pay for shed too," Ilya mutters. "Shed is fine, would pay for shed. Would pay for two sheds."
"My parents don't need two sheds."
"I do not care about your father's sheds!" Ilya exclaims. "Why are you talking about sheds? No sheds! There are no sheds!"
"Right, because they have one."
"That is—" Ilya gestures far to one side, then the other. "You, here. Point, here."
"Okay, so what's your point?"
"That would pay your father's expenses. Was willing. Is nice man." Ilya pours himself a fourth shot. "Does not deserve to lose family, reputation, because has extra child hidden somewhere."
"He doesn't have any love children."
"No. Has stocks."
"My dad lost money on the stock market?" Shane says slowly. This almost makes sense. Sort of. "How much money?"
"Not lost. No. If lost, would be no taxes."
Right, the taxes. "Okay, so my dad … had tax paperwork. And he needed your information." Shane's eyes narrow. "Why'd he need your information? Wait, you said, because it was your money. But … you sent it to him."
"Because I said, had extra."
"And when you had a conversation about that, you thought my dad was trying to hint that he needed money."
"Yes! Finally, you are understanding."
"But he doesn't," Shane goes on, trying to assemble the pieces in a way that makes sense. "So … oh."
"'Oh,'" Ilya says, clearly mocking him. "Yes."
"So you started sending him money," Shane surmises, and gets a nod. "But he doesn't have secret love children to pay expenses for, so he … put it in an investment account?"
Ilya nods shortly.
"And now you have to pay taxes." It's all coming together. "Because it's your money."
"Was not supposed to be my money," Ilya grumbles. "Now must pay even more taxes."
"At least they're Canadian taxes?" Shane offers. "They pay for lots of good things. Like my dad's salary. And schools, and things. So sort of you're still paying for children. Just not his children."
Ilya looks slightly mollified. "Mm. Is okay, like that. Still, surprise! Taxes! And tax forms. So many tax forms. So many rules."
"Yeah. My dad loves that stuff."
"I know that now," Ilya says with feeling. "Have spent all day hearing about it."
Shane snickers.
"Is not funny. You got to go to store, I got to hear about tax rules." Ilya considers the bottle, then sets it down again. "And now, have money again."
He sounds weirdly upset about this. "What's wrong with having money?"
"Nothing. Is good. Like having money." He sighs. "But is only useful when is—useful."
Shane spends a minute parsing that, and then thinking back over the conversation.
Ilya is upset because his money isn't useful.
Ilya thought he was paying Shane's dad's debts.
Ilya thought …
"Ilya," he says slowly.
"No, no, is that tone," Ilya interrupts him, and puts his hand over Shane's mouth again. "No. No tone."
He's drunk enough now, though, that he doesn't quite get Shane's mouth covered. "Ilya," Shane says again.
"No."
"Why would you say you're nobody important?"
Ilya takes his hand back and tucks his elbow neatly against his side.
"No, really. Why would you say that?"
"Am nobody to them," Ilya answers reluctantly, almost resentfully. "Am 'that Rozanov'."
"Not anymore, you're not. When was the last time Mom called you Rozanov?"
"Yesterday," Ilya says promptly.
"Yes, because you hip checked me in the kitchen!"
"She gave me a five minute major. Who gives five minute major for hip check?"
"I could have dropped the casserole!"
Ilya gives him an unimpressed look. "Big hockey player like you? Little hip check?"
"That's beside the point."
"Called me Rozanov, though," Ilya says triumphantly.
Shane sighs. "Alright. Fine. Bad example. But Ilya, you're not—you're not nobody. Not to me, and not to them."
"No, am your big bad rival. Evil villain, good to hate." Ilya tries to drink his shot, realizes it's empty, and reaches for the bottle. "Hatred is—like love."
"Uh," Shane says.
"Ties people together. Can hold together family. Can hold together—many things. Is good in bed."
"Ilya, did you think we were hate-fucking? Still?"
"No," Ilya admits, and finishes pouring his fifth shot. "But."
Shane takes away the bottle as soon as he sets it down. "But?"
"Your father," Ilya says with very precise enunciation, and then stops.
"You thought that my father thought that we were hate-fucking," Shane expands for him, returning from putting the bottle away, and half-sits on the counter on the same side as Ilya. "So it was okay for my father to blackmail you to pay for his secret love children."
"Yes."
"And you were paying him. For these secret love children."
"Yes." Ilya looks up at him. "Didn't want your family to be—" He flicks his fingers. "Sad. Your mother is too sweet to be sad like that."
"But my father doesn't have any secret love children," Shane goes on. "He's been putting your money—in the stock market?"
Ilya nods.
"So you were wrong about that," Shane concludes. "And now you're drinking about it?"
"No."
"No?"
"Am not drinking about the secret love children. Am drinking about the taxes."
"Come on. If you can afford to pay for secret love children, you can afford the taxes on the investment income."
"Is not the money," Ilya says with disgust. "He said he had something for me. Was in brown envelope." He gestures, marking about the size of a standard piece of paper. "Nothing good comes in brown envelopes, Shane. Nothing."
"Uh huh."
"So I asked him, what is this. He said, is taxes."
"Tax paperwork is a lot, I know—"
"I asked him, on what? He said, on the money. I said, why do I need to pay taxes on the money? And he just looked at me. So then I say, taxes, yes, is fine, will pay taxes too, but what is paperwork for? Tell me the amount, will pay. He says, is not that simple. I ask why."
"Because you thought you were paying the gift taxes," Shane realizes. "But actually you were paying on investments, and that means dividends and capital gains, and—"
"He said, because you are foreign national. You are Russian. I said, I know that, but why does that matter?"2
"Oh no," Shane murmurs, knowing his dad well enough to—
"He said, let me explain."
"Oh god."
"Four hours, Hollander. Four hours. There were flow charts. There were equations."
"Yeah."
"He has a whiteboard, Hollander. Like in the school! It was school!"
"Yeah, he does that."
"Four hours!" Ilya drinks again. "Because of his secret love children."
"That he doesn't have," Shane says again, because it feels important to make sure they're on the same page there.
"Children would be simpler," Ilya mutters. "Children do not need flow charts."
"We had flow charts when I was a kid. How to get ready for school, how to get ready for practice—"
"Because he is evil," Ilya tells him. "You are child of evil villain, Hollander. Explains much about you."
"He's not evil. Just a tax guy."
"As I said."
Shane finally breaks and starts giggling. "So you've been giving him all this money, and he's been investing it for you?"
"Yes."
"Has it been doing well?" he can't resist asking. "Is he making you a lot of money?"
"So much money. I do not need more money, Hollander! I need—I need—"
"Yeah? What is it you need?"
"I need your father to be happy," Ilya answers quietly. "So that your family is happy. So that you—so that they—." He stops, looks at his shot glass, and says, "He calls me."
"Yeah."
"My brother, he called me."
Shane slides off the counter and sits on the next bar stool over from to Ilya. "Yeah?"
"I understood him. He calls, he says his daughter's school is expensive, I send the money. He says the car has broken, I send the money." Ilya pauses. "Sent. Is done now."
"So when my dad called and started talking about his day … you were waiting for the thing that needed paying."
Ilya nods.
Shane takes a deep breath. "He doesn't want you to pay for anything, Ilya."
Ilya doesn't respond.
"He just wants to talk to you."
"But why? I am—."
Ilya cuts off abruptly, because Shane has put a hand over his mouth. "If you say you're not important, Ilya, I swear …."
Ilya shrugs. When Shane removes his hand, he says, "Then will not say it."
"He calls you because you are important."
Ilya looks up from his glass at Shane. "But why?"
"Because you're important to me. Because I love you, and that means—you're my person, that means you're theirs, too."
Ilya's brow creases. "So they … talk to me."
Shane nods.
"I do not know how to talk," Ilya admits quietly. "Not … like that."
"Well." Shane shrugs. "You'll learn."
Ilya blinks.
"And until then, you can just let my dad talk instead. Ask him about taxes. That's always good for a few hours."
Ilya groans. "Do not need more taxes, Hollander. Have had enough of taxes!"
"You said you want him to be happy. That's how to make him happy. Let him talk about his tax stuff."
Ilya sighs.
"You've been talking to him regularly for, what, a year now?" Shane points out.
"Mm."
"So you've been doing it. Now you just have to do it without—the money stuff."
"First you say talk about taxes, now you say no money stuff. Make up your mind, Hollander."
Shane snickers. "You know what I meant, Rozanov."
"Mm." Ilya leans over until they're shoulder to shoulder. "Shane."
"Hm?"
"Have enough money now. For the building we wanted. For the hockey school."
"Really? That's great! We can go next weekend and look at it—I'll get my agent to send the letter—." He stops. "Ilya, you know I don't want your money either."
"Do. You do."
"For the school, sure. But not—." He stops, trying to think how to word this, and finally just says it straight. "I love you, Ilya. The money's just—the school, all of it—it's something to do to show the world."
"Liar."
"Am not!"
"You love the school," Ilya says quietly. "You love making—." He pauses. "Future. Children's futures."
"Like you're one to talk, Mr 'it's fine if it's for the children'."
"Mm. We are similar, yes. Is why we work together well."
"Is that what we do," Shane comments, snickering again. "Is that what we're calling it now."
"Shut up, Hollander. You know what I mean."
"Yeah." He stops laughing. "But it's true. I love that we can use our money for things like that, but—if we didn't have it, if my dad had lost all of it on bad stock bets—Ilya, I'd still love you."
Ilya doesn't reply.
"And so would my parents."
Ilya looks at him. "Shane. Your parents don't …."
"Yeah, they do. Or, they're getting there." He leans his head on Ilya's. "That's why Dad calls you."
"Is weird. Whole family, weird."
"Yeah," Shane agrees, because it's easier than arguing, and it's not entirely false.
"Nice weird, though." Ilya is quiet for a few seconds. "Shane?"
"Hm?"
"Would let your father talk taxes. If it makes him happy."
"Really?"
"Mm."
"Even with flow charts?"
"Ugh. Maybe."
Shane laughs.
"Yes," Ilya says after a few seconds. "Even flow charts. Even equations."
Shane finds Ilya's hand and holds it. "And if you really want to make him happy?"
"Yeah?"
"You call him, next time."
Footnotes
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2. See the CRA info sheet for why this is a Thing ↩︎